#if there are any errors in this im sorry and im also sorry that i dont care X(

[squea]

dynastid eyeset - updated / fixed / patched

theres been a lot of changes to cc since i made these originally and although they "work", theyve become a bit unoptimised and prone to errors due to the many updates since then. So i remade them from the ground up! im very tired. the textures themselves are the same. just updated to new formats. if the eyes work for you anyway this isnt entirely necessary, but i still recommend updating to these! (also theres new files available🧚👻)

default replacements for (new in bold): humans aliens vampires mermaids werewolves cats and dogs foxes fairies ghosts reaper thing i dont know what that is but its there + heterochromia (with infants now!)

i have no plans to update the rest of the cottage living animals or horses! sorry! these were made on dx11 but have been tested on dx9 ...mostly. lmk of any issues. you can view more previews on the original post.

>>download (gdrive)<<

buy me a coffee 🥺?

[part-time-pixie]

that one b99 cold open

[dolskele]

Wow I actually finished this faster than I thought (ㆁωㆁ*)

PCs and their lovely creators below!

Dulce de leche 🍮- @doldulce

Daisy 🌼- @ambicutiebutt

Clove 💕- @digenerate-trash

Luci 🕶️- @drowdol

Fial 🪽- @dolaliere

Fiiiish!! 🐟- @deadfish-dol

[esosage]

I need a stobotnik fic where robotniks called to HR for "fraternizing" with his assistant. Because naturally, robotnik would be confused about it, because he and stone arnt dateing. But then HR come at him with an itemised list of all the freak shit he's done with stone, and i mean ALL of it. So while he does proves he and stone arnt fraternizing, haveing everything him and stone have done laid out like that, he cant help but wonder if he and stone ARE dateing. Or at least have feeling for one another.

Initially he dissmises the thought, blocking it out due to being a stubborn basterd who's terrified of the thought of being able to care for another person in the first placre. But then it starts to keep him up at night. Then he begins to notice the patterns when going throughout his day with stone. How much he relies on the other, how close they are.

Everything that he did mindlessly before: pinning stone to walls, sticking his fingers into stones mouth, putting a tracker watch on stone, how much he touches stone compared to other people, the innate trust he puts in stone every time he drinks one of his coffee's, he now notices it ALL. His brain takeing note of it, and graphing it all with horrible accuracy. And of course robotnik hates it, and tries to go back to the way things were before, but, he cant. He cant stop noticing it now that its been brought to his attention, and its eating him up alive.

So he begins to avoid stone in a vain attempt to stop whatevers going on with him. He doesnt pin stone up to walls anymore, he doesnt call stone in for late night at the lab anymore, he doesnt jab him in the gut anymore, hell he doesnt call stone in for latte's anymore. But to his horror, it makes whatevers happening to him worse. Every soft touch, every adoreing look, it makes him squirm. It makes his gut flutter with a feeling he isnt framilar with and terrifies him.

So he doubles down, going out of his way to push stone away, to get his agent to leave him so that whatever this feeling is will leave him aswell. And yet stone stays, refuses to go until robotnik says resolutely that robotnik says he doesnt want him anymore. And when robotnik does, stone leaves.

And thats what robotniks enemies had been waiting for. Because of him pushing away stone, it creates an opening for anyone who wants to get their hands on him. And so they take it. They shut down his badniks, tie him up, and hull him off to god knows where.

And robotnik begins to genuinlly regret pushing stone away. Of course, he had already regreted it the moment stone had left the lab, the moment he called for stone only for his assistant to never come, but now he's going to die alone and thats more painfull than anything else. Sure, he was content to die alone before, but its hard to have a taste of heaven and want to go back.

Thankfully for him though, he isnt going to die alone, as stone comes back to save him. And seeing stone do so warms something in robotniks cold heart. Because it confirm to him that stone really does care for him, that he likes him enough to put his life on the line for robotnik, and even if ivo has a hard time saying it outloud, that means the world to him.

Additionally, it also makes him unable to deny that stone cares about him. Like sure, stone had shown it before, but ivo was to enwrapped in his own self hatred to notice, too scared to admit that maybe he can be loves, and what that sentiment might imply about his life leading up to now, to ever do anything but dissmiss it. But now he cant dissmiss it, he cant ignore it, he is forced to admit that stone cares about him and that he cares about stone back. And that he hurt the only person who cares about him.. the only person who gave enough of a shit about him to actually look for him when he went missing. The only person who, despite not needing to anymore, went to save him not because he wanted his inteligence or his stature, but because he wanted him... because he wants and cares for ivo. And so its safe to say robotnik starts to feel very guilty about how he treated stone, if he hadnt before.

Oh and he also begins to let himself admit that he may have a slight attraction to stone, because god, watching his scyophant bash his enemies skulls open before carrying him out bridal style does something to him.

What?! He may be a geuise, but he's still a, ugh, PERSON at the end of the day. So as much as he hates to admit it, he has his own weaknesses. And one of them just so happens to be stone manhandling him around while soaked in their enemies blood.

Anyhow, i'd imagine when stone drops robotnik off at the lab and goes to leave again, is when ivo gives him an apology. Of course, its not a good one since this is probobly the firsr apology he's ever given out ever, but the fact that he's giving one out at all is what matters to stone. And so they make up, and stone stays. (Maybe even kiss, not sure. Ivo already had to admit that he cares about someone, and that someone is capable about careing about him, which is already big for him. He might not be ready for the kissing step yet.)

Not sure if they would date after that, but ivo would deffinetly be a lot more open to concider that he might have feelings for stone. So cue a million "how to know if i am in love" google searches, and quizes. Maybe in a fit of desperation he even vaugly asks walters after announceing his un-kidnapping to the old man too, since walters is like, the only person ivo kinda knows enough to feel comfortable asking that. He would still try to make it vauge enough that walters wouldnt suspect that its about himself, or that he might have feelings twards stone.. but, lets be honest, walters reads this man like a book, he knows exactly whats going on.

After a bit of robotnik figureing himself out, i'd imagine him and stone would start dateing. Of course, robotnik would have a time figureing out how to confess. Probobly cycling through and scrapping MANY ideas before he lands on one he's comfortable with. But even then he's still akward as hell trying to go through with it. Talking about emotioms isnt his strong suit, so neither is confessing, thankfully though, atone was thinking of confessing at the same time so ivos burden is lightened. He still cant say "i love you" yet, though he manages to get the message across regardless.

After that, theyre relationship would progress slowly, after all big changes are scary to ivo, aswell as emotional intamacy, but they manage. Getting their way through with light hand holding, gentle touches, and maybe even a forehead kiss or two if theyre lucky.

So yeah, thats all i have, feel free to pitch in any ideas if you want to though.

Also, sorry this is so long, i meant to make this breif but the ideas kept flowing as i wrote lol.

[roystartt]

It's been a few weeks since Tommy finally cracked and went and spoke to Evan and the pair managed to actually communicate.

And the last few weeks have been heavy, lots of talking, there's been tears and mini arguments as they both valiantly tried to finally make the other understand where they were coming from. But it's been good too, they both want to make this work, extracting promises to always talk in the future before running away or jumping five steps ahead.

But there's also been quiet times where they just soak up each others presence in a way neither of them can get enough. As if they can make up for those missing months by pure osmosis.

Tonight's one of those nights where they're trying to reconnect with each other, on this journey they're on to finally get to know eachother. They'd ordered takeout and were now tangled up together on the couch whilst some romcom played on the TV in the background. Not that they're really paying attention to the TV, preferring to switch between lazy makeouts that neither are really trying to get to lead anywhere anytime soon; and just staring into each others eyes, sometimes murmering gentle conversation.

'You know,' Evan starts, when he pulls aways from another lazy kiss, 'the 118 were surprising good at never letting me know.'

This just confuses Tommy, but by now he is more than used to being behind in the conversation as he knows that whenever Evan speaks, there's a trail of mental gymnastics happening silently inside his head before he ever speaks out loud. It impresses Tommy whenever Evan explains to him all the different jumps he makes to connect two subjects. He wishes sometimes he could climb inside Evan's mind and truly experience it.

''What do you mean, sweetheart?' He probes when it doesn't seem like Evan was going to clarify.

Evan shifts a bit to lean his back against Tommy's chest and reaches for one of his hands to fiddle with his fingers. 'You know, when we were broken up, they would never let on when they had seen you. Your name went from being one of the most popular topics of conversation to basically taboo.' He elaborates with a laugh.

But his new position meant he could feel more than see Tommy freeze and tense up at his words. Evan turned his head back so he could see his boyfriend's face and frowned at the look upon it. 'What is it?'

'Evan...' Tommy started, hesitantly. 'What makes you think any of the 118 saw me when we were broken up?'

This caused Evan to fully shift back around so they were facing eachother again, he out a hand on Tommy's chest, half for balance and half to ground himself in the other man. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, I'm pretty sure I was their public enemy number one,' Tommy explained softly, bringing a hand up to stroke one of Evan's curls, 'Not that I blame them of course.'

This only caused the frown lines on Eva 's face to deepen. 'B-but you were friends with all of them before we even got together the first time. Chimney never shut up about how glad he was to properly reconnect with you past a phonecall every few years. And I basically had to share custody of you with Eddie!'

Tommy smiled softly, leaning up to press a comforting kiss against Evan's birthmark. 'That's true, but then I went and broke their brother's heart.'

'You were just trying to protect your own heart!.' Evan defended him fiercely, causing Tommy to chuckle. He loved how far they'd come in understanding and forgiving each other.

'Yes, but they didn't know that sweetheart.'

Evan deflated, sinking all of his weight onto Tommy. 'They really stopped doing things with you?'

'I would cut ties with anyone that hurt you like that too, Evan. I'm just eternally grateful that you gave me a second chance.' He leaned in to give him a proper kiss, hoping to distract Evan from the topic of conversation.

It only worked for a few seconds before Evan was shooting up, indignant all over again. 'Please say they at least texted you to check in on how you were coping?'

'Evan, I-' Tommy sighed, struggling to find the words to calm Evan down, not wanting to further incriminate their friends, but also not wanting to lie.

Evan could read what Tommy wasn't saying and before he could stop him Evan was off the couch and storming towards the door. 'Babe! Wait, where are you going?'

'I am going to give them a piece of my mind. They spent weeks eating my baked goods and telling me not to call you, and they couldn't even pick up the phone to check on you!?' Evan was practically seething at this point.

Moving quickly, Tommy met Evan at the door, stopping him from where he was angrily trying to shove on a jacket. 'Sweetheart, it's 11pm at night, I don't think waking them up from sleep to shout at them for being on your side is going to do much good. They were just trying to look out for you the best way they knew how.'

'Yeah, well who was on your side Tommy? You deserved to have someone looking out for you too.' Evan exploded, heated.

Tommy grabbed Evan by the hips and pulled him in close, hugging him until he could feel Evan start to calm. 'Well, luckily, I have you to look out for me. And I'm not going to be foolish enough to give that up ever again.'

His words were enough to finally have Evan fully relax into Tommy's arms. 'Well good, because I'm never letting you give it up again, either.' He sighed, before quietly continuing; 'I'm just disappointed that they didn't also look out for you. I thought they were better than that.'

'They're your family, Evan. They acted out of love for you, they didn't owe me anything.'

'Bullshit, you are their family now too, and they best never forget that again.' Evan grumbled, his face pressed into Tommy's neck.

Evan smiled coyly, before waggling his eyebrows, 'I did defend you pretty hard. It's going to take a lot to show me how really grateful you are.'

'How about you hold off on their lectures for now, and let me take you to bed.' Tommy proposed, tilting his head back so Evan could see his face. 'You could let me show you how grateful I am to have you as my biggest defender.'

'Hmmm, let me try,' was Tommy's reply before he took Evan's lips in his own, this kiss considerably more passionate than the ones they had been exchanging on the couch earlier on. If Tommy had his way, he'd never stop trying his best to show Evan just how eternally grateful he is to have him by his side.

[casualavocados]

I want you to tell me the truth in person, or I'll burn your mouth with chilies!

AI DI, our 小辣椒 (little chili padi)🌶️🎉 KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Bonus: Cayenne Auto Shop

[peachypine]

HESOKURI WARS WHITE DAY PRINCE SET U WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!! osoanzu redraw based on oso's sprite with totoko in this set (feat. @beejoco's oso!)

bonus closeup of anzu bc ummm she's cute and i like her :)

[star-and-moon-shipper]

this has actually awoken something inside of me so uhm yes i’m going to rant

first of all, the first person is being very respectful. not leaving any hate, just describing the situation and why members of the queer community may relate and find safety in these characters, which is of course COMPLETELY reasonable.

“there’s no hint that any of these character were queer” “remus was heavily implied to be aroace-coded” AHEM queer definition- denoting or relating to a sexual or gender identity that does not correspond to established ideas of sexuality and gender, especially heterosexual norms

this may just be a lack of research but please, do your research before commenting on the queer community. aroace people ARE queer and ARE lgbtq+ and that should NOT be erased!

“sirius was always dating women when he was younger” when? literally when? if i recall, in the ONE SCENE we get from them when they’re younger included sirius paying no attention to women even when they’re looking right at him, clearly crushing on him. also…. let me hold your hand as i say this….. bisexual people exist. i know, wild isn’t it! someone CAN date mostly people from one gender and still like the other! you don’t need to prove your bisexuality and i may have missed the part where it said “sirius was heterosexual” so forgive me.

with the remus thing, if you headcanon him as aroace i 100% respect that but also just because he publicly serial date at hogwarts (or maybe he did! canon has like NO descriptions of them!) doesn’t mean he’s aroace.

also “remus became straight for tonks” so uh fun fact you cannot “become straight”. either you always were or you always weren’t (this is excluding sexualities where your sexuality fluctuates, because that is clearly not what this person is referencing)

“it was clear that she was straight” you say nonbinary lesbian i literally picture tonks. wdym it was clear she was straight? when? i once again missed the words “tonks was heterosexual”, so i am so sorry for thinking that the shapeshifter who goes by her last name because they hate their first name (something that i have seen trans people do in my life) who dresses sick as fuck was queer. whoopsie daisy!

my final thought on this is that BI PEOPLE EXIST. you and ship remadora and headcanon them both as bi-spec.

closing thoughts time! you will never catch me saying that a character is or should be straight. ex- i don’t see james as trans. i love when he is, but in my head if you were to ask my headcanon i wouldn’t say that he’s trans as part of it. will you EVER catch me on someone’s post saying “i love trans james” and saying “no actually that’s wrong, trans people can only be/look this exact way”? HELL NO. representation is IMPORTANT and you need to let people find comfort in characters. you can of course have your own headcanons! but please let people have their representation.

[marblerose-rue]

basking in moonlight

[nomi9006]

Replacements

557 words

“Do I remind you of Silena?” Asked Piper. The question surprised Annabeth, having not expected it.

It was dark, they were on the porch of the Big House. Annabeth, too stressed to sleep with Percy still missing, had found Piper still up and invited her to sit with her.

Usually they'd have to worry about Harpies finding them and getting in trouble, but Annabeth suspected Chirion was being extra lenient on her, even more than usual.

There were still so many mixed emotions Annabeth felt when it came to Silena. None of which she wanted to get into.

Annabeth took a second, pondering over the question. She couldn't deny Piper and Silena had some things in common, both were kind and were willing to fight for what they believed in.

But they also had their differences, where Silena was soft and gentle, Piper was more crude and rough around the edges. Silena had been more than willing to embrace the classic Aphrodite role while Piper was more hesitant.

Silena had been as good as a sister, always looking after her, even when Annabeth was difficult about it. Annabeth Piper looks after me too, Annabeth thinks. But not in the same way Silena did.

Piper had been a quiet support since she came to camp. She didn't have the same expectations or built up image of Annabeth the others did. Between that and her emotional intelligence, Annabeth found herself opening up and being vulnerable with her.

It was a trait Annabeth secretly envied. As a child of Athena she prided herself on her intelligence, unfortunately it didn't extend to emotions, it usually didn't. After all, most children of Athena believed emotions got in the way of making smart rational decisions. It wasn't until she met Percy that maybe listening to her heart wasn't the worst decision.

Gods she missed him.

She looked back at Piper, she seemed deep in thought. Annabeth almost wondered what brought the question on, but she knew it had been due to the ongoing fued between her and Drew.

“Not really.” Annabeth finally said.

Piper looked towards the older girl, she had a vulnerable look on her face.

Silena seemed to haunt the Aphrodite cabin, no one was as over her death or apparent betrayal as they acted.

It wasn't Piper's business, but she couldn't help but feel like she was being unintentionally placed in the girl's shoes.

It shouldn't bother her as much as it did, she hadn't planned on making camp her new home.

But a part of her wanted to, but she wasn't sure how she could do that if she couldn't find her place here, if her only place was to fill in the gap Silena left.

Piper saw the look in Annabeth's eyes, she could tell her and Silena we're close at one point. She felt a bitter feeling rise in her chest at the thought.

But her saying she didn't remind her of Silena gave her hope that she wasn't just a replacement for her, that Annabeth actually liked Piper for Piper.

Of course Piper knew Annabeth liked her for her. Annabeth wasn't the type to be fake, but she couldn't help the insecurity get to her.

“Is that a bad thing?” Piper asked.

“No, I don't think so.” Annabeth respond

Piper thinks that's good enough for her.

[theartofeggs]

🚺👤➕🚹🪶➕🍋🟰🤰🪺

🙏💕

yes ofc!

since you changed it from gender to genitals, I went ahead and rolled for their genders hehe. I also threw some light comedy in there lmao

Thanks for participating in my ask event! I'm slowly gettin thru them all, I promise <3 I'll try to host this event whenever my follower count hits a 69 so 169 is the next goal! :) I'm glad so many Great Hawk lovers are in my ask box. GH is my favorite LI ever <3

The event's ended by now, but I'll finish the current requests I've gotten!

Synopsis; lesbian bird fucker 🫵 (complimentary)

Prompt: PC x GH (Smut) + Pregnancy & Eggs / CW: bird marriage, pregnancy, eggs, PC = simp, mentioned womb fucking - Both characters are female (dice rolls), PC = AFAB, GH = AMAB, and GH is a beastperson

Wife's Wishes

You were used to this awful, strange town. The people were weird by nature, and the nature was even weirder. Though odd, it was comfortable enough if you knew how to fend off the touchy ones. At some point, you even began to embrace the outright fictional events around you. A real, living furry with the animal parts baked in? They're all over town, and a lot of them are pets, so it's nothing you flinch at anymore. Some kind of plant fused into a person running around naked? You've already passed by plenty just today, and had a conversation or two with them. Multi-limbed creatures trying to swarm you from the underbrush? Honestly, you found them almost cute.

So when a very pretty harpy lady began flying over head, you weighed your options. Cons: a bird woman in the middle of the moor probably isn't a good sign, and you've already made it this far in life without ever having to lewdly touch anybody or anything. How you did that in this town is a mystery, but miracles happen sometimes. Pros: that bird woman is very hot. Usually, you aren't sexually inclined, but something about the harpy just calls to you. Quite literally, if her, frankly beautiful, screeching from above was any sign. You contemplated for a bit longer, watching closely as she circled again and again above you. You reached your conclusion when she dove down, and opened your arms welcomingly right before she picked you up with her big bird feet.

"I am Great Hawk. Wife should get comfortable." Were the harpy's first words to you upon landing at some tall tower you'd previously caught glimpses in the distance of while exploring earlier. She had set you down as carefully as a woman almost twice your size could, and took a couple steps back to give you space. She probably expected you to be panicked or surprised, but you were more disappointed that she didn't stay so close. You were eager to get a good look at her. "I will be back with gift." She took off out of the tower before you could say anything, and you decided to do as she said and make yourself at home.

When Great Hawk came back, she seemed to momentarily forget where she was. While she had been off doing whatever, you had taken the liberty to start cleaning the tower. It was a finite space, and you were very adept with cleaning by now, given all the millions of odd jobs you did around town, so it didn't take very long to at least get the dust and loose debris out of your immediate living area. Your attention turned to the harpy when she almost stumbled her landing, more focused on taking in the dramatic change of her nesting quarters. "Oh, welcome back! I thought I'd clean the place a bit while you were out." You chirped happily, drawing her attention to you. You'd torn a good portion of your clothes into pieces to make a few rags to clean with, but you assumed you wouldn't be wearing any clothes soon enough given the tendencies of things around here, so you weren't upset at all. If anything, you were just streamlining the process. She didn't wear clothing, so neither would you, right? When in Rome and all that.

"I- yes, thank you, wife..." She spoke softly, a visible mix between confused and flustered, as her eyes tried to roam but routinely ended up at your chest. Your top was the first thing to go, and you didn't wear a bra today anyways, given that it was a little warm out for spring and you weren't expecting to be around anyone who cared. You didn't think your tits were all that great, especially for this town, but she seemed rather enamored. So much so that she jolted when the thing in her hands twitched, and she blushed as she held it out to you. "I-I got you food. Good nutrition, easy to find." She offered one of those multi-limbed creatures to you, and you took it gratefully. She stared as you bit into it, and her face darkened as you savored its taste. It was an odd texture, almost like that of crab meat, but it and the taste weren't unpleasant. You'd even dare say you enjoy them.

"Glad wife likes it. Thought landbound would dislike, never seen one eat egg-eater before. Will get wife more next time." Great Hawk chuckled as you licked your fingers clean, looking up at her through your lashes. You smiled and cast a glance out of the tower ledge, taking in the setting sun on the horizon, and grinned at her. "It's gonna be dark soon. Did you want to lay down with me?" You offered, motioning to the nest nearby. It didn't look comfortable, but she was a bird and you were no better than a dog. You'd live.

She seemed surprised by the suggestion and nodded with a soft smile, easily picking you up in her arms and carrying you to the nest. "If we could, I'd like to go through with a landbound custom." You spoke on the way, wrapping her arms around her neck and nuzzling into the downy feathers that so beautifully curved around her chest. You adored how the plumage avoided her breasts specifically—it made ogling easier. You continued only when you heard her curious hum. "On the first night of becoming wives, landbound couples mate. I want to make my new wife feel good." You purred lowly, unable to help yourself as your hand cupped one of her tits. It was nice and hefty in your palm, and you massaged it with as much care as you could muster. She made a little noise, feathers ruffling, as she gently set you down on the nest and crawled on top of you.

"Would gladly mate with wife." She cooed back at you as her hands began to wander, sharp talons ripping through the remaining clothes you had kept on. You moaned softly when she dipped her claws into your folds, clearly careful to not cut you open on the inside as she slipped them in to the knuckle. She was a large lady, so her fingers were rather large too. Just one finger made you feel a bit full, and two made you stretch around her teasing motions. Though, you couldn't help but encourage it. You were initially going to whine, but you happened a glance between her legs, and are now eagerly trying to get her to open you up some more.

It was impossible to initially see, given the sea of feathers she had from the waist-down, but apparently she had a cock. It was... big. Just like the rest of her. Though, at least it looked tapered and the head wasn't so blunt, unlike a human dick. It would probably have an easier time slipping in than a regular person's of the same size, but that almost made you worry more. Maybe there was a chance she'd just go straight into your womb? There's no way that was particularly pleasurable, though you can't find yourself unwilling to at least try it with such a weapon. She didn't seem in much of a rush, regardless. Great Hawk was busy twirling her tongue around your chest as her fingers curled, twisted, and spread in your depths.

A few moments later and you'd already given up on your previous reasonable thoughts. Who cares if you get split in two, you just need her already. Getting torn in half by such a cock would be an honor rather than a tragedy. You were never a patient person, and it showed with how you grinded your hips against her hand and whined loudly to her. "Please, fuck me already. I can't take any more teasing." You moaned out as you pressed against her, only whining more when she chuckled at you. Or rather, your impatience. "If wife wants me to, I will." She responded with a sweet whisper, climbing further over you and letting her impressive cock press against your desperately awaiting cunt. You moaned loudly when she slid it in, and you could tell you were right about how its shape would let it go a little too deep. Oh well. If she wanted to womb fuck you, you'd gladly let her.

She groaned herself as she smoothly glided her hips back and forth, grinding into you every time she bottom inside you. It was heaven, frankly speaking, and you had no regrets in giving your virginity to her. You had even less qualms with it when she sped up the pace, picking you up in her arms and holding you like a fleshlight as she fucked up into you. Maybe her being a harpy was a greater boon than you thought, with her furious thrusting into your dripping pussy and heavy pants fanning directly across your neck. The animalistic behavior made you feel wanted, claimed, and it fed a more lecherous part of you. Your cunt fluttered around her still-ravaging cock, just shy of straight-up squirting your natural lube all over her beautiful dick. She didn't even pause her motions, but she came soon after as well.

You could feel the heat of her cum deep inside you, though you don't think it was actually in your womb, before she pulled out and let it drip all over the messily entwined sticks beneath you. "We should do harpy mating ritual when you get your wings in. Wife will look so pretty in the sky with me." She set you down and curled around you, easily chasing the night's chill away with her embrace as she murmured soft words. Initially, you wanted to go at minimum another few rounds, but you figured she could use the rest. You could pick up where you left off in the morning. It's not like you were going anywhere anytime soon.

Weeks later, when your feathers and wings came in, like she had promised, you weren't immediately able to fulfill her wish of the harpy's customs. After all, flying while carrying a giant batch of eggs in your stomach was rather difficult, to say the least. Though, after you laid these, you could probably follow through with her customs and earn yourself a second helping. A new, bird-y, part of you didn't like the thought of staying empty for long.

the end ;Q words : 1,749

[change-name-later]

Gonna make a quick post bc I wanna share.

Disclaimer, this is not at all a super serious theory. I know the show works with cartoon logic. If the writers want stakes high, they’ll make them high. And if not, the character will bounce right back. Simple as that. This is just meant as more of a in universe explanation than anything.

Anyways. As goofy as it sounds. I think intent 100% determines if a character dies or not.

Because thinking about it. Any time a character accidentally “kills” someone. The other character doesn’t stay dead.

For example, in “Trash Friends”. Smg3 gets startled when Smg4 bursts into his cafe. He shoots him out of reflex. And Smg4 stands back up a second later. No big deal. Everyone’s fine.

But! If someone has the intention to kill someone. Suddenly it’s a serious life or death situation. Example, in “You Used To Be Cool”. Smg3 is told to kill Smg4 to “prove” he’s still a villian. Smg3 seriously considers it. And when he goes and confronts Smg4. It becomes a tense scene between the two.

The only difference here is that Smg3 was intending on doing it. Or at least, that’s what Smg4 thought at that moment. The intention was there. And therefore, meant the possibility of actually killing him was 100% there.

Anywhoo. This isn’t meant to be super serious or in-depth by any means. I’m just putting an idea out there. I know there’s a lot of holes in this. So please do not take it seriously 😭

[rexwrendraws]

Sandcastles: Year One, A Sandman Fan-Fic Anthology ⏳

To celebrate The Sandman's one year anniversary this past weekend (how has it been a year already!?), I started a self-indulgent project and decided I wanted to take a crack at typesetting for the very first time.

So, I'm very proud to present: Sandcastles, an 180-page digital anthology that celebrates some of my favorite Sandman fics from the past year! Sandcastle collects shorter fics ranging from gen to mature, and is print-ready and available to be downloaded for free. Through this anthology, I hope others can get the same joy from these fics the same way I did over the past year (think of it as a glorified fic rec list)! (And, if anyone's interested, the print-ready files are available for download as well, if anyone wanted to print their own copy of Sandcastles!)

✨ Download Sandcastles here!

Thank you to all the authors for giving me permission to include their work in this anthology! This is my love letter to all of your work! Please check them out and leave a kind word or two!

The fics included in Sandcastles, in order of the Table of Contents, are the following:

Companions - Picture_Yourself (@anthrossandman)

Fridays - hardly_an_escape (@hardly-an-escape)

Warning Sign - issylra (@issylra)

Snacktime - fishydwarrows (@fishfingersandscarves)

Stray - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Aulon Raid - moorishflower (@moorishflower)

Unbidden Miracles - mostlybuddingthoughts (@mostlybuddingthoughts)

Available - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Points of View - cuubism (@cuubism)

Fern-Fevered - notallsandmen (notallmaenads) (@notallsandmen)

The Last - secondjulia (@secondjulia)

Scratch a Little Itch - sanyumi (@valeriianz)

Simple Dreams of Comfort - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

The Apocalypse is Nigh! - cuubism (@cuubism)

To Those Who Dare Wonder - Astrophel_Hireath (@mentallyinvernation)

The Perils of Inebriation - Lilibet (@the-slow-arrow)

Touch - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Passing the Time - Anonymous

I'm Stuck on You (I'm Mighty Glad You Stayed) - hardly_an_escape (@hardly-an-escape)

Hob Gadling vs. The British Museum (Unknown Artist, c. 2022, Oil on Canvas) - TheAllKnowingOwl (@theallknowingowl)

This also counts as my submission for Day 1 of @mr-sadman 's Sandmanniversary 2023 prompts (Collection) :)

_ _ _ _ _ (Post & files updated — 29.08.2023)

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type au part 10!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9 /// part 10 /// part 11 /// epilogue

WERE ALMOST THERE LESSGO

Everyone say thank you to my friend Aster who has no interest in Call of Duty whatsoever, but let me talk to them about this fic for almost two fucking hours and use them as a rubber duck to fix some issues with the plot. Thank you, Aster! And sorry for ranting to you about Call of Duty fanfiction for TWO. FUCKING. HOURS. :,)

edit: why does the formatting always break after i post 😭

@imjustheretofightforlove / @pieckyghost / @life-as-a-gamergirl

...

The plan was simple, in theory.

Before the war began, tunnels had been dug into the mountain; At the time, their numbers, both of men and supplies, were outgrowing the fort, even with it being as big as it was. It was supposed to eventually become a store room, winding passageways connecting to create an outline.

Then war came knocking. Their supplies dwindled, they lost men, and the tunnels became nothing more than a forgotten project. Once they sat as an odd reminder of how far the fort had fallen; to have gone from carving through stone for extra room for all of their supplies to barely able to avoid hypothermia at night was a haunting ghost of their fall from grace.

But, perhaps now they could offer their salvation.

The Captain’s men were to set a scene; They hid the evidence of the medical center the once formidable fort had become and made it look like it had been bustling with life. 

Initially, they tossed around the idea of moving the sick and injured out but abandoned the idea quickly. It involved too much risk, too many variables; Some wouldn’t have survived the trip.

Instead they prepped the unused warehouse and war room. They moved the worst off into the buildings and those who had a better chance at fighting into the walls. Snow would cover the amount of movement that had happened over the course of executing their plan. 

The healthy few would  silently tell the story of a panicked and hasty retreat that looked as if it had happened just minutes prior.

They laid false tracks, leading to the tunnels. Tunnels that could perhaps be mistaken for an evacuation route by those unfamiliar with the area or a group in the rush of a promised battle. Tunnels that could trap those who charged in blindly. Tunnels that had one entrance, one exit.

And they waited, placing their trust in the reluctant apostle of a forgotten god.

…

Ghost had returned to camp well into the night; the air didn’t feel as frigid after sleeping on a mountain. The trek was much easier the second time, having two advantages with setting out earlier and not losing his fucking mind in a dead man’s cabin.

The general hadn’t asked him any questions. Just said that it was a shame he didn’t catch anything and that dinner had already been served.

That first night, Ghost fell in and out of a fitful sleep, unable to rest. He kept his weapons placed strategically, waiting for the ambush. There was no way they did not know of his betrayal.

Yet, the ambush never came. They marched on. 

It took weeks for the entire camp to make the journey that had taken him a single day. The snowy weather only worsened in protest of spring looming closer.

When the general sent out the platoon, Ghost was filled with so much  dread that he couldn’t feel anxious. He knew how to stay calm in dire situations, but this wasn’t that. He wasn’t calm, it was like he had hit his limit of how much stress he was able to process and was left hollow.

The morning was far too calm for the bloodshed that was bound to occur on either side. Tragedy was imminent and the sun hadn’t even crested the horizon.

Staring at the closed gates of the fortress in formation with men he should have called brother, he had a sinking feeling that he was going to be reunited with his old friend before the next sunrise.

He thought he might have heard that friend telling him to breathe.

Ghost was not the one leading the charge, no, he wasn’t trusted enough for that, but he was on the front lines. He was one of the first to push through the gates, to search for the enemy, and perhaps might have even been the one to pointedly stare at the obvious trail leading to the tunnels.

He may or may not have been right behind the commanding officer that followed the trail with his weapon drawn. 

And when they realized that the tunnels were nothing more than a circuitous dead end, they filed out in reverse order. The passages were not wide enough for two armored soldiers to pass by each other, forcing them to slowly and awkwardly work their way out of the commander’s shortsightedness one by one. 

The commanding officer, Ghost, and whatever other poor fools that had been stuck on the front line were still at the back when the Captain called to fire. 

Archers that had been lying in wait, hiding atop the walls, picked off the soldiers that made their way out one by one. The Captain’s men were greatly outnumbered, but those numbers offered no help when the only soldiers that made their way out were turned into pincushions.

It did not take them long to realize that the exit was impassable, and they fell back, looking to their commanding officer for an order.

Their commanding officer, whose head had been cleaved in two by someone who was once on their side. Some were frozen in fear, some charged towards the defector, and some attempted to flee. 

Those with delusions of bravery were cut down quickly, same went for the ones that froze. As for the rest, the traitor found a perverse satisfaction from attacking the back of a fleeing man, just as they had done to their enemies. 

The only light was from the few that had carried in torches. As they dropped, the shadows grew twisted and distorted, corrupted by the betrayal. 

The soldiers that made it to the exit found that swordsmen had joined the archers in blocking the exit. They turned back once more and saw the carnage caused by a wraith covered in the blood of their allies. 

They had a choice, not to live or die, but of which blade to be struck down by.

The mountain reeked of copper.

The sounds of a slaughter quietened.

The swordsmen did not holster their weapons. The archers did not drop their arrows. The Captain did not give the order to stand down. Each and every one of them waited to see who would exit the tunnels.

The silence was cut through by the sound of squelching, the sound of piles of corpses being stepped on as one man exited.

The traitor emerged, black cloak turned red. 

The Captain’s men cheered. 

The traitor did not.

They relit the fires that had been snuffed. The bodies were removed and treated with an undeserved amount of care as they were lined up and piled. Despite just cheering their deaths, they gave the felled enemy the mercy of a proper funeral.

They knew that their own allies had not been given the same treatment, but refused to stoop to the enemy’s level. The Captain watched as the pyre was lit. Soon after, they dispersed, preparing the fort for regular, day-to-day life.

The Captain stayed and kneeled by the roaring flame, tending to it, making sure it continued to burn. 

The traitor approached, stood next to him. He took off his armor piece by piece and tossed it onto the fire. It was soaked in blood, the insignia that once denoted him as one of the mighty general’s soldiers was hidden beneath the carnage that he had wrought. 

They both watched the fire.

The traitor walked towards the gate. The Captain stopped him. Thanked him. Held out his hand to shake. It was stared at for a long time.

The traitor accepted and shook his hand. He found that the Captain held money in his palm, an award for his treachery. Blood money. It was still accepted.

The Captain wore a gaze too kind for the size of the pyre behind him. Told the traitor that should he need it, he would have a roof for himself at the fort. One that did not require pledging a blade nor a life to his army.

The Captain said that they all owed him their lives.

The traitor disagreed but said nothing. He walked down the path to his steed, covered in the blood of his old allies, money in hand.

…

Ghost came back to himself sitting in a freezing river.

Ice and snow dotted the muddy banks in clumps. 

His horse was hitched to a tree. 

Water lapped at his neck; he was kneeling and hunched over enough that only his head was not submerged. Blood trailed away from him, following the flow of the river. 

His sword had been dropped on the snowy bank, pulled slightly by the water but still secure where it sat. His halberd had been buried into the riverbed, the ax slammed into the mud with enough force to hold it in place against the current.

First he realized someone was humming. 

Then he realized someone was holding his head to their chest. 

And then that they were wiping his face and neck, cleaning what the water could not reach.

Ghost closed his eyes and let himself collapse fully into Soap’s arms.

His tune did not stutter. He just held the broken man closer, pressing his lips against his hair and rocking them back and forth.

Ghost clung onto the arm stretched across his chest like it was a lifeline. And it might as well have been. Soap might as well have been. 

He couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

A former gladiator, forced to the ground and shaking because he had to kill people.

He was cold, but not as cold as he should have been. Submerged in a frozen river, he should have already been dead, but Soap didn’t let him feel more than a watery chill.

His fingers weren’t numb, yet he couldn’t feel them. He was trying. He wanted to feel the current, to feel the flow of water, but they might as well have not been there, refusing to respond.

He would never return to camp nor meet the general’s ire ever again.

There was a bird on the ground. A little waxwing. Hopping around and pecking the dirt. It scratched at the rocky bank for a moment before taking flight, landing in the branches of a leafless tree.

The little waxwing ruffled its feathers and shook its head. It called out a few times before taking off again, flying somewhere Ghost couldn’t watch it anymore. He wished it had lingered just a little longer.

He would have thought he was hyperventilating if not for the fact that he watched  his slow, steady puffs of air freeze in the wind.

After spending too long drifting away, Ghost found it within himself to ask, “What happens now?”

Soap hummed, “Find somewhere safe for tonight, eat something warm, and rest.”

He said it so simply without even having to think about it. It was obvious to Soap.

“And then after that?” Ghost asked, not able to accept that it was that easy.

“One step at a time,” he said gently, running a wet hand through his hair.

Ghost shook his head, his anxiety growing, his breathing getting quicker. He knew what Soap was trying to say, but to him it sounded like there was no plan. Like the only thing he could do was focus on tonight because there was no tomorrow. 

“Hey,” Soap pulled him back, pressing his lips to his temple, “Heroes for hire, right?”

“I’m—,” Ghost stuttered a moment before he remembered confiding in him about an old friend. “—Surprised you remember that,” he finished in a mumble. It was said so softly, a mortal man wouldn’t have heard it over the rush of water.

The god smiled, “Of course. You said it, didn’t you?”

The words bounced around in his mind but failed to process them.

“It’s up to you to live out the dream, for both of you.” Hope came so easily to Soap and Ghost would have given anything to have a fraction of his love for the world.

Soap paused the rocking as something spooked a small flock of birds that were sitting in a nearby tree. Ghost could see out of the corner of his eye the way the god glared over at them, daring anyone or anything to intrude on… whatever was happening.

As soon as Soap was certain that there was no imminent threat, he returned to his rocking and rested his head against the top of Ghost’s.

Ghost, ever the contrarian, cynically asked, “The dream of running around, demanding money from people in need?”

It was the very thing that had him itching for a fight when getting the kid medical attention; Someone taking advantage of another’s desperation for a little bit more change in their pocket. 

Was that the life Ghost was meant to strive for?

Despite the (surely by now, very annoying) pessimism, Soap easily amended, “Running free, helping people in exchange for a warm meal.”

“You remind me of him,” Ghost said before he could think better of it.

Soap was silent, Ghost didn’t know how long for. His thoughts were split between regret for voicing the comparison and guilt at the reminder of his long lost friend. When he found it within himself to pull far enough away to see Soap’s face, he found that he was wearing a soft smile.

Soap asked gently, “What’s his name?” 

Ghost wasn’t used to so much gentleness directed towards him of all people and struggled with the question. Ghost wanted to answer, but he couldn’t.

Soap, in all of his kindness, waited. Let him sit there and flounder under a simple task with enough patience to ascend him to divinity if he weren’t already a god.

Ghost took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

He exhaled shakily.

“Roach. His name was Roach.”

Ghost felt years upon years of delayed grief hit him at once.

“He—” 

His voice broke. After all of that, his voice broke after six words. 

Fucking years of never-ending torment made bearable by one man’s presence and he didn’t have the decency to give out more than his name? Gods, the amount of fights he wanted to lose just so it would be over but kept going because of him and that was all Ghost had to offer? Six fucking words!?

“—Is very proud of you, I’m sure,” Soap finished his sentence for him, “And happy that you’ve come so far.”

I am.

“Both of you need to shut up,” Ghost grumbled, his lip curling at the nauseating words from both of them. 

He reopened his eyes slowly. The snow was still just as bright as before, the water was still moving, and the wind continued to shake empty tree branches.

He stood very slowly; He didn’t know how long he was kneeling for, but he did know that it was long enough for his legs to lock into place and one of his feet to fall asleep.

Soap stood with him, holding onto his arm to make sure he didn’t fall. He couldn’t be embarrassed, he certainly needed the help (not to mention he had done the same thing to Soap not too long ago). 

With his foot only half-assedly responding, he limped towards Taxes. Soap did not let go until Ghost grabbed onto her and started petting her mane. 

It took Ghost far too long to realize that his clothes were inexplicably dry. It should have been the first thing he noticed as soon as he stood, and yet…

He couldn’t afford to get lost in his own head again. 

Ghost removed his gloves to feel the coarse hair of Taxes’s winter coat beneath his hands and stared down at his feet, noting any and every detail about the snow and twigs beneath him.

Soap grabbed his weapons from the river for him and set them against the tree. Part of the ax and speartip were muddy, a line showing where they had been sunk into the riverbed. 

He watched, entranced, as the water on the blades frosted over and coated the metal in a sheen of white. He couldn’t tell how cold it was with the god shielding him from most of it, but if it froze that quickly…

It only served as yet another testament to how much Soap did for him with little to nothing in return. 

There was a tangle in Taxes’s mane.

He brushed through it slowly. Soap patted Ghost’s shoulder and let his hand linger there. Part of Ghost wondered if the god was as touch-starved as he was.

“Do you know where the nearest town is?” Soap asked. He was probably about to have to leave again.

Ghost nodded slowly. 

Ghost was going to a town. To find a hotel. So he could rent a room. And stay there. Because he wasn’t going back to camp again. Ever. He couldn’t. 

And again, it was Soap who pulled him back. 

Soap dropped his hand to grab Ghost’s, squeezing it with that complicated look of emotions that Ghost wasn’t willing to unpack. Nothing was said, but Ghost squeezed his hand back.

They stared for a while, Ghost still trying to process how to function under the crushing weight of freedom and Soap doing whatever it is that Soap does.

Soon, the god was stepping back but did not let go of his hand. The complex array of emotions was taken over by one he knew very well: An unwilling goodbye. 

It was the sad smile of someone not wanting to leave but already anticipating their next reunion; Seeing it on Soap and about him made him feel… odd. There was a pain in his chest, but one he wanted to seek out instead of avoid. Ghost still managed to find guilt in causing Soap any negative emotion.

Soap said in a voice that was only just loud enough to be heard and no louder, “Well, I’ll… try to see you there.” 

He admitted the “trying” part reluctantly, as if ashamed by his own limits. Ghost wanted to reassure him that it was okay, but words were never his strong suit.

You should kiss his hand.

Ghost pulled Soap’s hand closer and pressed a kiss to Soap’s knuckles like some stupid scene from a stupid fairytale. As he pulled away, he rubbed his thumb across where he just kissed and let go.

Soap’s eyes were wide and a blush was just visible against his tan skin. Ghost felt pride well up from somewhere deep inside him; He, Ghost, a mortal man, just made Death blush.

“Until we meet again,” Ghost said with a sarcastically pompous tone and a burgeoning smile as he got on his horse, hoping a message that he himself wasn’t clear on was clear to Soap.

The god was still gawking at him, frozen in surprise even as Ghost rode towards the faint path in the snow. It wasn’t until he checked behind him and saw that the god was gone that his brain turned back on and practically screamed at him that he’s an idiot.

Because, yes, the god was frozen in shock, but why the fuck did he assume Soap was frozen because he was happy about Ghost kissing his hand?

Ghost closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

This was the fucking bar fight thing all over again. He had assumed that Soap wanted or needed his help to get down and made a fool of himself back then, and the same had happened once more. 

Except worse. Because he just fucking kissed his hand. Unprompted.

Well… unprompted from Soap, at least.

Quit your whining. Soap’s a god, if he didn’t like it, he’d have done something about it.

Which was the same excuse he had given after the cabin.

I was correct then, and I’m correct now!

He buried his face in his hands. Gods, why didn’t Ghost just fucking ignore him like he always did? Everything would have been fine if he hadn’t acted on some stupid little voice inside his fucking head—

You’re gonna thank me when all of this is said and done.

Ghost couldn’t take it anymore and yelled in exasperation to an empty, snowy forest, “When all of what is said and done!?”

Predictably, the trees held no answer and he heard the faint echo of a familiar laugh from somewhere in his own head. Ghost resituated and mocked the voice, hoping his annoyance was clear.

The town was hours away, and he’d spend every minute of the ride stewing in the agony of knowing he was an easily manipulated, stupid idiot. He sighed, although it quickly turned into a frustrated groan.

“Fuck you,” Ghost grumbled.

Aww, you’re so nice to me!

Ghost could picture his stupid shit-eating grin without even being able to see him. He shook his head and reminded himself that he was angry at him and shouldn’t smile at his joke. Fucker.

…

The room he had been given was comfortably small, most of the area taken up by a large bed centered on one of the walls, with a floor that creaked every time he shifted his weight.

Most of the light streamed in from the windows that overlooked the tree line although a few dim lanterns were dotted about the room. A wood stove in the corner was working to fend off the frigid weather with a small table and chairs under one of the windows.

Ghost barely took the time to check the room before dropping his gear and outerwear unceremoniously to the floor. It was warmer than what he would have expected and the bed was calling his name even though it couldn’t have been past noon.

He still needed to give the god an offering, both as a part of his daily routine and as a thanks. Ghost couldn’t help but yearn for when it was warm enough for him to go searching for Soap’s temples.

He missed the thrill of exploration, the rewarding feeling upon properly reading the environmental clues, and comfort once near one of his old shrines. As soon as spring began to scare away the snow or he was far enough south for it to warm up, he’d have to find one again.

He stared at the ceiling above him in case it had any ideas for possible offerings hidden in the wood grain. Nope. But the bed was more comfortable than he expected.

The quilt overtop of it was rough, scratchy, and heavy in a way that he knew he would not struggle to stay warm that night — It reminded him of one his mother had made years and years ago. The unrefined stitching was charming; whoever made it cared more about functionality than looks and wanted something warm as opposed to pretty.

Uncomfortable, lumpy pillows sat against the headboard. The last time he had slept with an actual pillow was… probably back in Soap’s temple after the bookstore debacle. (He still had no idea where Soap had gotten it and the blanket from).

Sure, most people would probably call it pretty shitty, but he wasn’t on a cot, in a sleeping bag, or staring up at a canvas tent. To him, it was perfect.

While he was cold, he did not get under the covers. He knew that he was lying to himself that he would be able to stay awake if he did.

But he definitely wasn’t lying to himself about staying awake as long as he just laid on top of the blankets. The fact that he blinked and suddenly the sun was much closer to the horizon than it had been a moment ago meant nothing.

The cause of his vexation was sitting at the table. Soap was staring out the window with his chin propped up on his hand, Ghost could only see the back of his head. He was tapping his fingers against his arm.

Ghost reluctantly sat up and stretched, afterwards having to blink several times for the world to return to normal.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” Soap commented without turning away from the window.

“Should’ve woken me, then,” Ghost grumbled. He was surprised by the rasp in his own voice, making a face of confusion, only then realizing how deeply he must have slept. He moved his legs over the side of the bed like he was going to stand, but as soon as he realized that standing meant leaving the bed, he changed his mind.

Soap chuckled quietly, now looking at him. “I’d rather kill myself than interrupt your sleep.”

“Fucking hell! Alright, gods…” Ghost responded as if he wouldn’t make a similarly grim joke. “How long have you been waiting?” he asked, fruitlessly trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Not long.” Soap answered fast enough that Ghost knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was lying. He rubbed his eyes harder, now wondering how long Soap had to wait on him.

When he finished, he found Soap staring at him. As soon as he saw that Ghost had noticed him, Soap looked away, shifting in his chair and messing with his hands.

It was Ghost’s turn to stare now as he tried to figure out what made him so antsy and… was he blushing? What— 

Oh yeah. 

That.

Fuck.

How does he even begin to apologize for kissing Soap’s hand?

Tell him you want to kiss him on the lips.

Ghost wanted to throw something out the window. That stupid little voice was the very reason he was in this fucking predicament to begin with!

Oh, boo hoo. Now kiss.

Ghost took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about earlier—”

“I’m sorry I made you—”

They started speaking at the same time, both apologizing but cutting each other off before the reason for the apology could be revealed. They paused and a slightly awkward laugh was shared as a tense air fell over them.

“You first,” Ghost said before Soap could, delaying the inevitable.

“I’m sorry I made you do— well— all of this,” Soap said, looking anywhere but at Ghost, gesturing around.

“All of what?” Ghost asked.

“This,” Soap said again. “The— The betrayal, the cabin, the ambush— all of it.” He finally looked back at Ghost, his voice filled with regret. “I’m glad you’re not there any more—” If he said it with any more anger, smoke would have been pouring from his lips. “—But I wish it hadn’t come with… everything else.”

Ghost sighed sadly, upset at the idea that Soap believed he owed an apology for pushing him to leave the general’s side. “Soap—”

“Nope! Your turn! What do you think you have to apologize for?” he interrupted quickly, his tone pulling a 180 with a hypocritical denial to hear any push back on whether he needed to apologize. 

The last part of his statement didn’t make any sense; It should have been obvious why he was apologizing. Ghost had just kissed his hand out of nowhere, of course he needed to apologize for that. 

Did Soap somehow forget? Was it that bad that he immediately repressed it to the point he didn’t even remember Ghost’s fuck up? Did he just want to pretend it never happened and brush it aside in the hopes it wouldn’t happen again?

Well, Soap would be right about that — Ghost sure as shit wasn’t going to make a mistake of that magnitude again. He owed that much to Soap, at least. He couldn’t let himself establish this pattern of constantly and consistently overstepping—

“Ghost?”

His head shot up. Soap was looking at him concerned. 

Right. They were talking.

He started his apology, “I’m sorry about earlier…” 

But Ghost always has been and always will be a coward. “With— um, not giving you an offering.” Gods, what is wrong with him? Stupidly, he stuck to his lie. “I, I tried to think of something— of an offering—”

Unless pretending he wasn’t upset about it was a test to see if he’d still apologize without Soap having to mention it, to see if he was actually sorry, and he just failed.

He was staring firmly at a knot in the floorboards as his hands mindlessly picked at his nails. He was never sure if it was a habit he formed to distract his hands or if it was because he wanted the pain of picking them too far.

Breathe.

“Ghost.” 

Soap had stood up, was standing in front of him. His eyes widened, not having heard the god’s approach. He grabbed Ghost’s hands and pulled them apart. When his thumb absently moved to keep picking at his nails, Soap clasped their hands together to prevent the action. 

Soap, perfectly fine with turning Ghost’s world on its head with just a few words, said so softly, “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. You do not owe me. You have done more for me than I could ever put into words.” Soap brought his hands together and kissed his knuckles.

If Ghost wasn’t blushing before, he definitely was now. And he wasn’t even wearing his mask.

I FUCKING TOLD YOU, YOU STUPID LITTLE BITCH.

Ghost snorted. 

Which was not the right response to Soap’s heartfelt words, but damn if dead people don’t have awful timing. Knowing just how bad of a response it was made him chuckle more, shaking his head.

“I— I’m sorry—” He was still giggling.

“What?” Soap thankfully sounded more confused than offended.

“Roach, he—” Still giggling. He could feel the dead bastard’s smug grin in his sudden silence.

“What…? Wait, did he say something?” Soap asked, catching on. “He did, didn’t he? What did he say?” Soap had a growing smile, almost laughing along with Ghost even though he had yet to find out what was so funny.

“…Nothing,” Ghost said unconvincingly. Gods, how does he explain what he said without recounting every time the asshole demanded that he flirt with Soap.

“He was making fun of me, wasn’t he?”

“No, no—”

“No? Then what was it?”

“He’s mean to me,” Ghost tattled, trying to stop laughing.

Am not. Pussy.

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

“You don’t want to know,” Ghost said honestly, shaking his head. Without thinking beyond just wanting to hide, he dropped his head and closed his eyes in embarrassment, the crown of his head resting against Soap’s sternum. 

Which solved his problem of wanting to hide, but created a new problem in not knowing what to do with his hands as Soap let go. 

Gods, so much was fucking happening and he was still barely awake.

Shakingly, hesitantly, his hands fell to Soap’s sides. He was still too caught up in his own issues for the forefront of his mind to pay much attention to the action, leaving his subconscious to decide that it was the right move.

His hands were clenched in a loose fist, as if his subconscious thought that it would fix any worry of the motion being mistaken for wandering, grabbing hands. 

Part of him, the stupid part, wanted to pull the god closer and, at first, he couldn’t figure out why. But Roach’s influence must be rubbing off on him because he realized he wanted a hug. 

How fucking embarrassing.

What was even more embarrassing was how much his blush worsened when Soap brought his own hands up, one brushing through his hair and one resting on his shoulder, occasionally rubbing half-circles with his thumb.

Recompense.

That was the only thing Ghost could think of in that moment. What could he do in return.

He just said you don’t need to give him anything, dumbass.

Yeah, thanks, dumbass, but he wanted to give him something. Ghost from a year ago would have scoffed at that idea and probably make fun of him too, but a year ago the only thing he had to look forward to was dying on the battlefield.

“Simon,” he said quietly without thinking about it a moment more.

“Hmm?” Soap asked quietly, neither of his hands pausing.

“My name— It’s Simon.” He lifted his head from where it was resting but did not look up. He would lose his nerve if he tried looking up at the god, so he decided that the third button from the bottom on Soap’s shirt would be just fine as a replacement.

It wasn’t the kind of offering the god needed, it didn’t have much of any meaning aside from another way to address him, but it meant something to Ghost, at least. The gods didn’t care about his weird personal plight with his real name given to him by his Mother versus the moniker bestowed upon him by those placing bets on when he’d die, but maybe it could mean something to Soap too.

“Thank you, Simon,” said Soap, still running his fingers through his hair.

And the way he said it, maybe it did mean as much to Soap as it did to Ghost. It was just his name, but it had tears welling up in his eyes. He did not know how long it had been since someone called him by his actual name.

(He did. It was the last thing Roach had said, his last words wasted on trying to save Ghost, calling out for him to move before acting for him.)

He still couldn’t look up at him, but he did manage to pull up enough to now be staring at the fifth button on his shirt. No one knowing him as anything other than Ghost was a self imposed punishment; He could have, at any given time, told people his name, but he didn’t.

And he wouldn’t. Not after how nice Soap said it. No, he would like to keep that to himself and Soap.

“I think my name was John.”

Ghost heard the way he said it. It was the same way Ghost had confessed his: quick and impulsive, saying it before your fears could talk you out of it. 

He finally pulled his eyes up, making eye contact for a split second before he settled for staring at some point on his cheek. Ghost was still sitting on the bed while Soap stood, the exaggerated height difference only making the moment of vulnerability that much more intimidating.

“John?” Ghost asked to confirm.

Soap inhaled shakily, like finally hearing someone else call him by his name confirmed hazy memories. “All of it’s fuzzy, but… I— I think it was.”

Ghost knew he would never understand the full weight of that confession but he knew that he felt happy that Soap trusted him enough for it, that Ghost may have been able to help him find solace with a question he might never be able to answer.

He would never know the origin of Death and it wasn’t a question he felt too pressed to find an answer for, not when he was sitting in front of it, fucking holding him. Knowing the name he had before becoming Death was more than enough for Ghost.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Johnny,” Simon said, squeezing his hand.

“Is it?” Johnny asked, a question loaded with more than what was directly said.

While Simon did not know what all the god wanted to ask, he knew what his answer was regardless. “Yes, I think it is.” 

The hand that had been on his shoulder moved under his chin and slowly tilted his head up. 

It wasn’t the first time the god had done it, but his breath still hitched; the god did it the same way every time, always careful, always with a touch light enough to be a suggestion and nothing more, never forcing. And like every other time, he obliged.

Simon still dodged the eye contact like it would cause him physical pain if their eyes met, but he took in every other detail of Johnny’s face; The lingering blush, the expression that Simon couldn’t describe as anything other than awe even though that couldn’t be what it was, and (after a courage-gathering inhale) the eyes that were not looking at his own, but staring at his lips.

It took Ghost an embarrassing amount of time to realize, ‘Oh, he wants to kiss me.’

And as soon as he did, a million and one fears ran through his head, all about messing it up or misinterpreting it, but the closer Soap got, the more muffled they became. 

And, well, thinking had never done him any good, so he made an impulsive decision and crossed the last half of an inch between them.

Ghost hesitantly brought his hand to rest on Soap’s cheek, reassured when Soap did something similar and held the back of his neck. Soap held his hand there like it was protection, covering a weak spot during a moment of vulnerability. 

Vulnerable was really the only word he could use to describe it. Normally, where the word would bring fears of helplessness and going unprotected, he only felt comfort. Intimacy, his brain provided.

There was nothing he could do to try to describe it, partially because it broke his brain, but what else is new.

When they separated, Soap’s chest was moving like he was breathing heavy, like he had run out of air. Ghost smiled; He knew it was no physical limitation causing his perceived breathlessness. 

But they didn’t stay separated long. No, now that kissing was on the table, it was going to be taken fully advantage of.

Soap was the one to close the distance the second time, now holding Ghost’s face in both hands, one still on the back of his neck and the other positioned so his thumb could rub his cheek, just under his eye.

Ghost was completely out of his element but he trusted Soap. Johnny stepped closer, resting his knee on the bed next to one of Simon’s own. He almost laughed at himself; Earlier, he had scoffed at the fact that he wanted a hug, and now…

When the contact started to become too much and he remembered that he was supposed to be breathing, he tapped Soap’s wrist and pulled back. Soap thankfully understood, moving one hand back to his shoulder and the other ghosting the back of his neck. It was still contact, but much less all-encompassing; Something easier to digest without taking it away completely.

They sat in silence for a moment, processing and basking in the sudden development. Ghost felt like he was a kid sneaking into a closet to steal kisses from his sweetheart. The comparison made him blush more, and only then did he realize how red his cheeks must have been.

Simon wondered when the hell they had grown so close, wondered when the god managed to fully gain his trust without his notice.

It was anxiety-inducing and exhilarating all at once. And with Soap’s presence alone calming the anxious part of him, he was left with a delighted, fuzzy feeling that made the world feel a little more welcoming, a little bit brighter.

Ghost’s smile grew as he quietly teased, “And here I thought the kiss of Death was supposed to be a bad thing.”

Soap did something between a sigh and a scoff, like he wasn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment or a taunt. It seemed he took it as both, rolling his eyes even though the fond smile never left him.

“Oh, gods…” Ghost groaned in reluctant realization, his head falling against Johnny’s chest.

“What?” Johnny asked, his hands hovering, his worry palpable.

Simon pulled him closer as he groaned, “Roach is going to be so fucking smug.”

Damn fucking right I am, you stupid, lovable, delusionally oblivious bastard.

Soap huffed, clearly not having expected that development. “What do you mean he’s gonna be smug?”

Go on, tell him.

Ghost was now officially trying to hide against Soap, even though it was Soap he would want to hide from after this admission. He groaned like he was in grievous physical pain and (very) reluctantly admitted, “…Roach has been trying to tell me that you want to kiss me or that I should kiss you for weeks now.”

The words were so mumbled, Ghost hoped that Soap didn’t understand them. But of course he did. Simon heard Soap’s laugh as much as he felt it, and damn that pushy, dead freak, he wanted to burrow through the floorboards.

“Is… Is that why you kissed my hand in the forest?” Johnny asked, a grin audible in his voice.

He groaned again, just needing to make his annoyance known, and nodded against his chest. 

Soap’s arms landed on his back and held him, comforting him even as the traitor chuckled at Simon’s misery. “Well, he wasn’t wrong — And I’m very glad you chose to listen to him.”

Ghost held his breath for several seconds, though he had no idea what he was trying to achieve. When he breathed in again, he turned his head to the side, still resting against Soap but watching the sunset through the window.

I believe a thanks is in order.

“Thank you, Roach,” Ghost reluctantly mumbled, forgetting that Soap would hear it too. He needed another nap.

The god echoed his words, “Yes, thank you, Roach.”

Simon shook his head, “Don’t thank him too, his ego was already bad enough.”

“Well, I think he deserves it,” Johnny said, leaving Simon outnumbered. 

Ghost finally pulled his head up and stared at Soap. “That’s because you don’t have to listen to him—”

Soap quietened his petulant argument by kissing his forehead, stopping Ghost in his tracks and leaving him to blink blankly as his blush slowly grew worse as if they hadn’t kissed on the lips just a moment ago.

Haha, loser.

Simon looked away and resisted the urge to feel the spot the god kissed, who only chuckled at his reaction.

…

Although the sun had settled behind the mountains, he still braved the nighttime winds that rolled through the town. It had only been a few hours since he left Taxes in the hands of the local stable, but he couldn’t not check on her. So, to the stables he trekked.

The locals were wandering the street just fine, unfazed by the weather. Ghost, however, was not as acclimated.

It wasn’t long after Soap and Roach bullied him that the god had to leave, still bound by the limitations of his power. Ghost distantly wondered if he could give Johnny food offerings again and claim they were for dates… But the idea was left behind when it made him confront the idea that he might be dating a fucking god.

Flowers would still have to do… 

…Which are also something given on dates. Fuck.

He hugged the buildings, the store fronts and porches offered some protection from the wind that billowed down the street. There were more people out and about now, but even the nighttime rush was still quite quaint.

The hitching posts in front of the tavern were almost all taken. Fortunately, the building didn’t look too rowdy from where he glanced through the windows from the other side of the street; Soap would absolutely kill him if he got into another barfight.

When he finished trudging through all of the snow and got to the stable, he found that predictably, Taxes was fine, but that didn’t stop him from letting out a sigh of relief. When he went to pet her, she was reluctant for only a second or two before she remembered that she liked to be petted and demanded that Ghost continue and never stop.

He loved his stupid horse.

“We actually made it out, huh?” he mumbled, still not believing it himself.

Ghost’s small smile only grew when he realized that she didn’t even know that her life was about to change for the better; She’d never have to march into battle or deal with the general’s men ever again.

Tomorrow was going to be stressful, trying to figure out a plan of action and leave to avoid having to spend what little money he was given on another night in the town. But, now that he thought about it…

It was stupid beyond belief and proof that his survival instincts had been thoroughly fucked, but part of him considered taking the Captain up on his offer.

Out of one frying pan, into a second frying pan, out of that frying pan, and back into yet another fucking frying pan. Brilliant.

But he wasn’t indebted to the Captain, there was no reason for him to stay longer than necessary, and, well… 

Fucking hell, he wanted to trust what Captain Price had said about helping him, alright? Yes, it’s fucking stupid, but fuck he just wanted it to be true.

Maybe… Maybe he could “take a sabbatical” or some shit, follow through on the idea of finding a temple of Johnny’s, maybe shake the bastard by the collar and demand to know what the hell happens if you date a god, and then see if the Captain’s offer still stands.

It felt like it should have been suicidal to return to a military after finally breaking his chains, but— but he wanted to have hope, dammit.

Taxes let out an ear piercing whinny and stomped around, at which point Ghost realized she was probably pissed that he hadn’t brought her a treat. No doubt the stable hands had already given her something, but he’d like to keep the horse in his good graces.

Glancing around, there wasn’t anything left out in the stable for him to pilfer for her, meaning he’d have to go all the way back to his hotel room, get an apple or oatcake or something from his bag, and then come all the way back to give it to her.

“The lengths I go to for you…” Ghost mumbled in mock annoyance.

Softy.

“Shut up,” he demanded without any bite, rolling his eyes. He could still hear Roach’s chuckles echoing faintly from his own mind. He patted her nose in lieu of a goodbye and when he stepped away, she moved around in her stall, stomping some more. 

He shook his head and took a courage gathering inhale, dreading the frosty wind; He hoped Taxes appreciated that he was facing a snowstorm just to get her a snack. 

Making sure his cloak was pulled tight, he stepped into the snow, and made it three steps before hands grabbed him and his world went dark.

[filialdisciple]

dumb rotmhs fanfic idea: one hundred years after his death, tang bo reincarnates as the son of a wealthy merchant family in shaolin.

—basically, a tangcheong reincarnation ficlet set during the shaolin tournament arc 👍

»—————————–✄

Part 1 2 3

the zheng family was the leader of a wealthy merchant guild in shaolin. while they were not on the same level as the hwang, they were still influential enough for rumors to run amok.

And rumors always circled their eldest son.

zheng bo was as much of an enigma to his family as he was to those within their village. he had always been a quiet child but, one day, something happened that /changed/ the then five-year old.

the zheng family's son cried tears upon tears. he was absolutely inconsolable. his small body shook, overcome with emotions so heavy that his entire body was painfully heaving.

and when he woke up, eyes bloodshot and distant, it was as if the childhood spark in his eyes disappeared along with his tears the previous night.

off-handedly, his father noted the history book that was dropped haphazardly on the floor. several of its pages were scrunched up terribly.

the zheng partiarch mistook it as his son's desire to learn martial arts, but quickly learned the opposite as his son glared at the instructor with so much vitriol it was poisonous.

no matter how many instructors he sent his son's way, he all turned them back—uncaring whether they were decades-long martial artists, instructors of renowned ones, or teachers from the shaolin sect itself. if anything the latter worsened zheng bo's mood to the nth degree.

ashamedly and with deep regret, both the zheng patriarch and matriarch had to give up on their son as they realized the teaching him how to inherit their merchant guild was a futile endeavor. zheng bo would rather stay cooped up in his room in complete silence.

the zheng family had three more children after their eldest yet none of their births affected the dark veil of mourning that shadowed their eldest brother.

A veil that no one could ever seem to lift.

other families often asked after him, most in hopes of marrying off their daughters, but the zheng matriarch stiffly laughed them off.

they had tried once to set a play date with another merchant family's daughter, but it ended up with her in tears and vomiting with an upset stomach. the same occured with the next and third ones.

they catch zheng bo slip a vial with an unknown substance back into his sleeve and understood the lengths he would go to avoid such a thing from happening again.

many years go by and their second son inherited their family's merchant guild, much to the confusion of many.

it stirred up interest in zheng bo. rumors went around about his inability to perform his duties as the eldest son; some said that he was actually a bastard which was why he was overlooked.

former servants and workers from the zheng family whispered about the eldest son's madness and how his mania could not be cured by even the best of doctors and healers.

but as with all rumors and public interest, it died down when no new information sprung forth.

zheng bo was simply a crazy son who was better kept within the walls of the zheng estate than be let out for fear of what his madness would lead him to do.

when the shaolin tournament began with warriors and fighters from the ten great sects and other notable families, the zheng patriarch tried to urge zheng bo to attend and simply watch the battles with the rest of the family.

zheng bo scoffed at him.

their second son placed a comforting hand on his father's shoulders and suggested that they just let him be, "the winner has already been decided. i'm sure eldest brother would end up bored."

but the world had a funny sense of irony.

mount hua was the competition's dark horse. they were nigh unstoppable, flicking away their opponent's swords with absolute ease and twisiting around them as if they were falling petals themselves. it was an unexpected but amazing start to the competition.

as the finals approached, discussion about the upcoming fight between mount hua's divine dragon and shaolin's hye yeon run rampant outside of shaolin's walls. inside the zheng estate, no one could stop talking about the unexpected showing from what should have been a fallen sect.

tang bo, by chance, overheard the praises heeped on mount hua's divine dragon who had beaten everyone he had faced undeniably and soundly.

a part of him felt guilty that he had been too overwhelmed by his own grief and pain to even step out and check on his family and hyung's sect—especially after what he had learned about the aftermath of the battle against the demonic sect one hundred year ago.

so felt a strong wave of relief at the knowledge that mount hua had regained its footing somehow and that it was doing well enough to receive awed praise.

he felt imensely grateful towards whoever this divine dragon was because he seemed to the center of mount hua's revival.

tang bo idly wondered if chung myung was berating him in the afterlife. he asked him to take care of tang bo's family, but couldn't offer the same for his sect, he imagined that the other man would just exaggeratedly roll his eyes and tell him to start doing better then, you bastard.

and so tang bo, for the first time in a decade, knowingly chose to leave his room and approach his second-life father first.

thirty years was a long enough period to mourn, even if his heart still aches with regret.

but tang bo supposed supporting mount hua's divine dragon in the finals was a start.

[ask-the-druggieverse]

Wait--So Palette is canon in this universe right? But he's dead. Does that mean Dream has a dead son?? :( That's so sad

Yeee Palette is canon to ATDV but it's a bit complicated

Not sure how many people noticed this but there are different MAU's(Multiverse AU's) that exist within the ATDV story, one of which being ATDV's "sister AU" ???Verse where Palette came from :3

Palette is canon to ???Verse's universe but not in DVerse as Dream only has 1 child named Starfruit while the Dream in ???Verse has a son whose Palette :3 (DV = In Universe ATDV = The blog as a whole)

^ ATDV Dream doesn't really view Palette as a son but moreso as a Nephew, not a close one but a Nephew nontheless. U_U